


Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

by Acrimonium



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Boobklok, F/F, Fluff, Gender or Sex Swap, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 20:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3868768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acrimonium/pseuds/Acrimonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Boobklok fic. Caroline Offdensen and Muff Knubbler pillow talk about Catholicism, music, and of course, boobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

From her position in her private bathroom where she was washing her second most expensive dildo, Caroline Francis Offdensen could see Muff Knubbler fondling herself.

It wasn’t an odd occurrence. A lot could be said about Knubbler, and her personnel file did say a lot of things, but that she was a boring or unenthusiastic lover was not one. It was the only reason they had these little after-hour meetings. They were very compatible lovers despite their mutual lust for control. Or maybe because of it.

Caroline privately described the skinny blonde as “high energy”, a term more often applied to small yapping dogs. To be fair, she could hump like a Chihuahua. Above all else, Knubbler enjoyed fine booze, strong hips, and expensive things. Caroline could give her all that.

In return, Muffy (which she despised being called almost as much as her full name) offered an insatiable appetite on command, a willingness to try anything at all, and a closed mouth to the rest of the world about what the more successful financial officer in the world liked to get up to in the bedroom.

Plus, when she came those robotic eyes lit up like a slot machine.

“You, ah, up for something else?” the brunette called out as she dried the curved black toy with a soft towel. She was naked save for her glasses, and the cotton felt good against her still hot skin. She was personally spent for the night, but she also liked to watch with a snifter of brandy. Knubbler was older than she was, she had no idea where she got the energy.

Well, yes, she did. Weekends it was cocaine, weekdays it was ungodly amounts of black coffee.

“Nah, babe,” came the reply, along with the sound of a shifting body on silk sheets. “Just thinkin’.”

“Thinking about what?” She entered her bedroom, replacing the dildo in her extremely well-organized wardrobe of sexual paraphernalia.

The tussled blonde in question was spread out on the huge bed, pale skin contrasting sharply against the smooth black sheets. Her bright green electronic pupils were wall-eyed, each one focused on a breast as she cupped them in a hand a piece. Or what she could cup, anyway.

“Gettin’ a boob job.”

Offdensen had to restrain a groan. What she wanted to say first was “At your age?” But that was rather offensive. The kinder version of that was “You wouldn’t be fooling anyone at this point”, but come to think of it, that was actually even more unkind. “Why?” was an obvious answer, and “I like them the way they are” moronically assumed producer gave a shit what she had to say about her boobs.

Muff Knubbler’s breasts, or lack thereof, might have been one of the worst kept secrets in music industry history. Despite the fact that she’d been stuffing her bra to a B cup since she was cleaning microphones (“Went through more tissue paper than Hallmark,” was how Pickles had eloquently put it before she’d had a coffee mug pitched at her head), enough people had either screwed her or seen her high enough to strip for word to get ‘round that she couldn’t fill a training bra. She’d upgraded from tissue paper to expensive custom bras with gel pads in them over the years (she’d actually adjusted them as she aged, she was so committed to the illusion). The fact remained, though, that she was almost entirely flat-chested.

“The girls making fun of you?” Caroline finally ventured, striding across the room to the wine fridge. This conversation was going to take a bottle of chardonnay just to scratch the surface. Besides, she was not going through something dangerously bordering on a relationship discussion sober.

The cybernetic implants flickered red for a moment in annoyance. “They insisted on the record meeting being held in the sauna, and you know how well they understand the meaning of ‘personal space’. It was like the St. Cecilia locker rooms all over again.”

Offdensen found she could picture Muff as a Catholic school girl surprisingly easily. Probably already called Muffy rather than Mary Alice, little plaid skirt, girls’ home bowl cut… Maybe she sang in the choir. More likely she divided her time between detention and shoplifting from record stores.

The lawyer could not help but smirk as she popped the cork out of the wine bottle with ease. “I take it no amount of Hail Marys will help with that.”

“Actually, Carrie…” She took a break from fondling herself to sit up, eyes coming back into unison and re-focusing. “St. Agatha of Sicily was the patron saint of boobs.”

She didn’t comment on ‘Carrie’ because she knew she’d be ignored. “You’re joking.”

“Nope. She’s really the saint of breast cancer, but with modern medicine where it is you’d think she’d have some time for other boob-related complaints.” Accepting the frosted  glass from Caroline, Kubbler took a large swig. “She had her tits lobbed off by Romans and St. Peter’s ghost sealed them back on for her. Maybe I should have been wearing her medallion all those years and I’d at least be bigger than Skwisgaal.”

Caroline was really going to have to have a talk with the girls about being nicer to the more irreplaceable staff. The thing that surprised her most, however, was how sore Muff sounded about the whole thing. Never any kind of a beauty and in a very male-dominated profession, throughout the years the producer had gained a reputation of being a skilled freak in the bedroom and almost seemed proud of her ugliness with self-deprecating humour. But then, maybe the stuffed bras, the high heels and the flashy clothes should have been a hint that she didn’t own her overbite and boney frame quite as much as she liked people to think.

“If it bothers you so much, why didn’t you get it done years ago?” The manager settled onto the bed beside the blonde and handed her a glass, not being able to resist licking her thumb and wiping away a smudge on the rim of her eye. Faint but visible crow’s feet extended from the metal. Apparently she wasn’t vain enough for Botox.

Not that she was one to talk. Wrinkles were starting to show up in her own mirror, and she could only imagine the ragging she’d get from the girls if she opted for some crack-filler.

“I’ve thought about it since I was eighteen,” she shrugged, one eye looking down again while the other remained on her wine. “But back then boob jobs came in one size and looked like two grapefruits under a dental dam.”

Between that and her knowledge of saint dismemberment, Muff should been helping Natalie with her lyrics.

“But the new implants look pretty real, so I’ve been thinking about it again. As for that old school papist hang-up about the sanctity of bodies and modifying them, well…” She expanded and retracted her false pupils to illustrate her point. “That ship sailed. Or bathysphere, in my case.”

Caroline cringed at that. She had always felt a little responsible for her… accident. She really should have gone down with the band on that trip. The submarine had been fine when she’d checked it over, but she should have known the girls would have it leaking radioactive waste and spawning titan-sized nuclear seahorses eventually.

“You, uh, didn’t check any religious objections to medical procedures when you signed the waiver,” the lawyer side of her pointed out, sipping her wine.

“Oh, I haven’t been religious since… Well, maybe since ever. But…” Another shrug of her narrow shoulders, high enough to brush the edges of her bob as her eyes spiralled into small points. “Old habits die hard, Carrie.”

“They do.” Doubly hard with Knubbler; she still frequently dressed like it was 1974 and she was on her way to a discotheque. Another sip. It was a good wine. Not that Offdensen bought any other kind. “If my opinion means anything, I don’t think you need a boob job, Muff. You’re on top of the game, remember? What’s a couple cups added to that?”

“That’s easy for you to say, Miss Healthy Cs.” Without so much as a warning, Muff buried her face in said healthy Cs, causing Caroline to give a rather unattractive shriek.

“Watch the chardonnay, this is three hundred dollars a bottle,” she grumbled, face reddening despite her annoyance. She couldn’t restrain a shiver. “Why are your rims always so cold?” They were particularly noticeable when Knubbler went down on her and they felt like a pair of ice cubes on her crotch. She liked it despite how unnatural it felt.

“Because they house a cooling system,” was the muffled reply as she nuzzled in deeper. “So my brain doesn’t boil. My god, you have the perfect tits. Why do you wear that dumb sports bra all the time?”

“You never know when you’re going to need total support.” After she had fenced Malin Fjordslorn to the death while slipping out of her demi-cups, she had decided it was best to strap down whenever she was on official business. It had saved her neck, and her back, more than once.

Though she supposed Muff never needed to worry about that, she mused as she absent-mindedly flicked the blonde’s nipple to extract a happy little squeak from her. Caressing her hair in a half-hearted attempt to get her head out of out of her rack, Caroline moved down to stroke her neck, then to rub her boney shoulder. The producer looked even skinnier out of her tailored wardrobe. It was a contrast to her own solid and reasonably muscled frame. She almost envied the blonde’s metabolism, because she knew for a fact she ate French toast every other day. On the other hand, that was probably why her breasts had never grown…

“Come on, drink your wine before you spill it all over me,” the brunette finally sighed, hooking her little lover by the chin and dragging her up.

Grinning that huge smile of hers, Muff obliged, taking a mouthful of wine and then kissing Caroline with it without spilling a drop. God only knows how she’d developed that talent. Her metal rims gently clinked on her own lenses.

Offdensen sighed, unable to restrain a content smile as she removed her glasses before they got scratched. Maybe she could go another round. It had been a long day, but Knubbler always found a way of dragging her into it. But then, cuddling would be nice, too. They’d been cuddling lately despite starting this as an “all sex, no feelings” relationship. Maybe that bathysphere had sailed. All these talks about implants, both breast and eye, was just full of feelings. And for some reason, she was strangely okay with that.

“So, when you were a little Catholic schoolgirl…” Caroline murmured, nibbling at that pale, slender neck.“Whose medallion did you wear? The school’s saint was for music, wasn’t it? Or somebody more personal?”

“Saint talk as another woman gnaws on me, bet the Vatican fucking loves this,” snickered Knubbler into her wine glass. “I had a St. Celia medallion, but I actually wore St. Lucy. That was the home I was in so we heard a lot about her. She was a big wig for a woman saint, in the Mass by name and everything. I liked that. We got chocolate on her feast day.” A thoughtful look crossed her face. Almost nostalgic. But sad, also. Her eyes went red even though she didn’t seem angry. “Mostly, though… It was because she was always shown as this bright ray of light to guide people in the right direction, even in the darkness. There… was some darkness then.”

Offdensen frowned in concern, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “Muff…” she began, running a hand through that fine blonde hair.

A smile and her green eyes snapped back onto her face, an immediate and defensive response. “Plus,” she continued, the familiar chirp back into her voice. “I liked the name, too. You know, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds? I was always a big Beatles fan.”

“I never would have guessed.” She tried to smile, and not succeeding terribly well she instead kissed the rim of her eye. The coolness was soothing. “And hey… You’re the girl with the kaleidoscope eyes.”

“Hey, yeah! I never even thought of that!” She shifted her position, folding her bare, lanky legs beneath herself. “Anyway, I eventually split and went into the industry, and…” A shameless shrug that said a lot as she drained her wine glass. “I stopped wearing Lucy so much. Then at all. More than a little of that old Catholic shame, I guess. I didn’t want a saint around my neck while I was snorting coke off some Japanese bass player’s dick.”

“I, ah, guess you wouldn’t.” Caroline had never been more thankful that she hadn’t been raised Catholic.

“Funny thing is… When I got the call to go check out Dethklok, I was kind of nervous about the whole Mariana Trench thing so I actually wore my medallion when I went down. I guess that was when I decided if there was a God, He really fucking hated me. I mean, to do that after I’d been wearing St. Lucy for years.”

“Sorry, what…?”

“Heh, guess you wouldn’t know.” Those shining green dots contracted to unlit pinholes. It was the cyborg’s equivalent of closing her eyes. “St. Lucy is the patron saint of the blind. She had her eyes gouged out. And St. Peter didn’t put them back in her lifetime.” Her lights popped back on and she wriggled out of the other woman’s arms, rising.

In her heels she was usually taller than Caroline, but barefoot she seemed much shorter. Standing there small and naked with her blonde bob and her pale skin, she looked more Mary Alice than Muff. For a moment, Offdensen could almost see those almost unnaturally pale blue eyes where the entirely unnatural metal and glass now were.

“… Maybe I should head out for the night.” She smiled but her voice lacked its usual cheer. “Sorry for shooting off my mouth like that, Carrie. You don’t wanna hear all that.”

Caroline was silent for a moment, but then gestured for her to return. “… Maybe I do want to hear it,” she shrugged. Now she was crossing the boundary into unquestionably relationship-grade talk. If she wasn’t careful, she was going to wake up in a minivan.

Knubbler hesitated but eventually slunk back over, ditching her glass and snagging the bottle of wine before sliding over the decadent silk sheets.“What do you even want with a used-up bitch like me anyway?” she sighed with a grin that was as fake as her eyes. She drank deeply, bottle tilted back with a practised wrist.

Offdensen took the offered bottle from her, setting her now-dry glass aside and swigging. Less experienced, she drank slowly to avoid choking. It gave her time to think of something to say that was both good and true.

“Because I like your boobs. And I like your eyes. Because we both know how lonely it gets at the top, Muff. And because I’m getting too old for someone I won’t break out the good wine for.”

“You call this shit the good stuff?” she muttered, but her smile was back. Still a little cautious, but at least genuine. She edged closer, taking the wine back. “… You know, I like you, too, Carrie. Maybe… we’d be good for each other. God knows I’m not getting any younger, either.”

Caroline Offdensen watched the cyborg drink. She thought of what the girls would think if they found out she was screwing Muff Knubbler. She considered St. Celia of music and St. Agatha of lost tits. She thought of St. Lucy, who would guide the blind with her light.

She thought of more nights with white wine and maybe some Beatles records with the girl with the kaleidoscope eyes. And she smiled before she buried her face in her perfect little boobs.


End file.
